


Across the dancefloor

by mVincentJ



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Crossdressing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mVincentJ/pseuds/mVincentJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different nights out with Deadpool. <br/>Soon to feature other heroes.</p>
<p>(Title liable to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> the chapter title is based off that one nightcore song!  
> i really liked how this came out so i hope you all enjoyed.  
> thanks to my girlfriend & xDomino009x for super helpful beta-ing!
> 
> (the drug mentions in this are very minor)

Raves looked good on him. 

Low lighting with only brief flashes of colour. Glow-paint stars over skin, touching hands that didn’t judge. Jello shots and the smell of sweat. Splashing of vodka, speckles of paint and looping glowsticks around his wrists and neck.

He didn’t really care about the music. Considered himself more of a pop, sing along kind of guy, but he came for the atmosphere. For the liquid music in the air and the limbs that joined it. One of his thinner masks covered his face but skintight spandex in a club full of bodies was warm on a cold day. 

It was April.

It was a Wednesday and he was in a club as it rained on the New York street outside. Wearing a short eyefucking dress in the most painful of pinks. His legs were squeezed into skintight white leggings that glowed a soft blue under the UV lights. He didn’t even have a gun. His hands were bare, and though those who they touched might give him a wide berth, he wasn’t avoided on the dance floor.

His katanas weren’t on his back. He felt like a student without a satchel, or a mom without a bad haircut. There was only a small knife concealed in the back of his boot. Tonight was for loving, not fighting. He had a job tomorrow. Out of New York for a week, in combat gear, following the scent of money that would buy him more pain meds. That usually smelt of copper and salt and gunpowder.

But now. Now it smelt of alcohol and people who didn’t wait to get a room. And sweat. It was a little overwhelming. He almost couldn’t hear the boxes over the music, couldn’t hear anyone else, just thumping repetitive beats. It was the closest he ever came to relaxation. Nearly-quiet amongst deafening bass, with smooth fabric swishing against his legs. The dress was new, neon pink with a soft sweetheart neckline. Bought to blend in better with the rave crowd. Sleeveless and short, it would’ve been bold on a chick shorter than him. The fabric stretched tight over his chest when he threw his arms in the air and it felt so satisfying to feel the fabric move when he swung his hips. Which was regularly. 

He was almost in a state of relaxation while dancing on the balls of his feet, gryrating, moving with every beat and grinning at anyone who came too close. The little glowpaint smile on his mask says more than his face could. Wade watched as colours swirled around him, people and lights. He’d even get a few looks, light glinting off pupils as people watched his wild movements. Wade’s dance style was go big or go home. He wasn’t as flexible as Spiderman, but he could bring it when he needed to.

After a botched segue by the resident DJ, something faster came on, hurrying the rave-goers like they’d been fast forwarded. The bunny-hop bouncing and less leisurely hip rolling had him making for the bar. The bartender was a white guy with neon lipstick and a bad hairstyle.

“Double vodka and coke.”

Deadpool watched carefully as he filled the glass. “Here,” says bad-hair. With a nod, he popped a black straw into his drink, dumped the bills on the table, then turned back to the dance floor. Men against men against men in dresses. Wade slipped his mask up to his upper lip and held his glass up in front of his jaw, cautiously leaning against the bar. Hopefully nothing would get on his dress.

Watching some bear sticking his tongue down a guy's neck always got him in the mood for alcohol. He sipped through the straw, making the annoying little slurpy noise that was always so pleasing if you were the person making it. The shorter guy pulled back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes roaming, passing over him for a second then back to the dark haired dude who’d been giving him a dental exam for free. Small-guy’s pupils were so dilated, people could probably use his eyes as a mirror. 

Wade shifted on the spot, hearing the whisper-shout voices of the people by him at the bar. Someone pushed past him to get a drink and Wade was no longer here for the crush of people and hot breath almost on his neck.

It was always good until it wasn’t anymore. Soon some looks prickling the back of his neck turned to many, to uncomfortable, to intense in a _bad_ way. Bypassing the straw, he necked the rest of his drink, slamming the glass on the bar in time with the burn in his throat. The mask was back down automatically.

Walking through the crowd, couples and groups parted to let him through, like he was threatening local flora with a machete. They were thorny and usually horny. His head felt a little light from the sudden rush of alcohol, but it wouldn’t last long.

Wade was taller than the bouncer at the door, who was smoking under the overhang.

Rain fell on him with the darkness, making the glow of the paint dim and blurring his smile. His cheap dress soaked through as he stood there for a minute, the dampening fabric sticking on his chest and his thighs. Water dripped into his ‘cleavage’ and he shivered. The night smelt almost nice with the rain washing everything away. No vomit in the gutters, that he could smell. Staring into the road, he pulled the damp mask up to his nose so he could breathe without sweaty spandex in the way. Inhaling once, loud, he grinned and raised his face right into the rain.

Not trying to cover the soaked fabric in any way, Wade left without picking anyone up. 

The bouncer even considers calling a cab for the tall muscled woman in a Deadpool mask.


End file.
